For A Good Time Call
by Rednikjow
Summary: Sometimes the Impala is too far away. Based on Badbastion's hot drawing which you can find here (NSFW):


They aren't sure who initiated it this time.

Dean would like to think that it was Sam, young and unable to control himself for too long, that had all but dragged Dean out from the crowded bar and into the nearest bathroom stall like a damn caveman would haul his mate along. Sam was set on it being Dean's fault, constantly leaning in over the pool table with his jeans riding low and dirty, hips swaying in blatant invitation throughout the entire game. Well, said game had never really been finished, because there was only so much teasing a man could take and Dean had been at this since they stepped out of the Impala three hours ago.

So what if it had been Sam who had dragged Dean off to begin with? If it weren't for Dean's swaying hips and the mischievous grin that played over his plush lips when he'd spilt beer on Sam's lap he wouldn't have done it. In Sam's eyes it was all Dean's fault, but that didn't mean he was complaining about the turn of events.

The musty stall in a public restroom wasn't exactly the ideal place to haul your brother's jeans and briefs off before hiking him up against the dirty wall, but since Dean had seemed just as impatient with getting this show on the road at the first touch of Sam's lips to his neck Sam didn't bother heading for the Impala. Besides, this wasn't their first time in a public place and the thrill of having other people buzzing by outside the flimsy stall door sent a surge of want through the tall brunette's gut when he hauled his brother up by the hips and pressed him up against the stall's wall.

Dean's hands scrabble for purchase on the back of Sam's head, long fingers weaving into soft strands of hair and bunching up plaid fabric in a tight hold as he's lifted from the tiled floor. His brother's breath is warm and moist against his neck, desperation puffing against his exposed collarbone as Sam fumbles for the lube in his back pocket, awkwardly holding Dean up with one arm. The strain on his face is obvious so Dean soothes him, soft strokes to his long curls and a tightened hold around the small of his back, socked feet digging into the dip in Sam's spine.

The prep is slow and dirty, bitten off grunts mingling with the heated air inside the small stall as the two men move. Dean's thighs quivers against Sam's hips as two lube-slick fingers press their way inside of the dirty blonde. Desperate pants for more and silent pleas drops from his lips when his brother isn't moving fast enough, socked feet digging into the small of Sam's back to egg him on. Half a dozen thrusts later Sam removes his fingers from Dean, smears the remains of the lube over his already slick and rock-hard dick and starts to press inside of his brother, the slow thrust accompanied by Dean's bitten off grunts and Sam's own strained breaths.

People keep buzzing by outside their stall, loud and drunk conversations carried into the restroom from the bar, the sound of running water and the hand driers mingling in the tiled room. No-one seems to take notice of the breathy pants that comes from the first stall, doesn't notice the pair of jeans and boxers discarded on the floor or the tuft of ash-blonde hair that sticks up over the top of the door in time with Sam's hard thrusts.

It isn't long before Dean hears his brother struggling with his voice, breathy moans dropping from Sam's parted lips like a silent prayer. They quickly grow louder, swears mingled with the desperate noises as Sam works himself into frenzy, hips stuttering and hands pawing possessively at Dean's spread cheeks. Dean reaches up and wraps his arms around his brother's shoulders, cards his fingers soothingly through his long hair and urges Sam to press his mouth to his neck, stifling the tall brunette's desperate sounds against it. Sam was never good at staying quiet, not even when the threat of a possible beating by a homosexual moron were hanging over their heads, so Dean would always do what was necessary to help his brother stay quiet, even if it meant his neck would be red and sore from Sam's rough biting. He whispers soft pleas into Sam's hair, silent _shh Sammy, stay quiet for me, so good_ until his little brother quiets down, if only a little bit.

It doesn't last long. Ten minutes after the two brothers stumbled into the cramped stall Dean feels his brother's hips stutter against him and wet heat sear his insides as Sam comes, a muffled cry vibrating pleasantly against his throat. With a single buck of his hips Dean comes, clenching tightly around Sam's half-hard dick that's still lodged inside of him and coming over the soft plaid cotton of his brother's shirt, his own cry muffled against the silky softness of Sam's hair.

They stay like that for a moment longer, breathing in heavily through their mouths as they listen to the buzzing outside of their stall. Footsteps are passing by, people are talking and hands are being washed. No-one seems to have noticed the two brothers in the first stall, but Dean knows for sure they are going to have a hard time explaining why two men comes out of the same stall without hinting towards sex.

Oh well, they could always go for round two until the restroom is less crowded.


End file.
